


Call Me Oscar

by gerardsjuarez



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Wilde (1997)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Falling In Love Over Oysters, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Neck Kissing, Oscar Wilde Fans Please Don't Come At Me, Sleeping With Someone To Get A First Edition, Speakeasies, Threesome - M/M/M, these tags are so dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20017777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerardsjuarez/pseuds/gerardsjuarez
Summary: In which a demon and an angel share feelings not only for each other but for a valued author as well.





	Call Me Oscar

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to my main pal Madison the Mad Lad. We love the concept that Aziraphale got busy with Wilde so he could get first editions and so this piece came to be. Thanks, Mad Lad.

It was early spring, flowers on the brink of blooming while the bite of the dying winter air kept coats on bodies. Crowley and Aziraphale had just had a nice dinner at a rather expensive restaurant. Crowley had ordered a very specific type of red wine virtually unavailable unless you asked with a wink. Aziraphale had a very rich, very unique little cake that came with an edible candy flower. 

The night was still young.

“You know,” Aziraphale started off carefully, looking anxiously from side to side, “I hear that a favorite author of mine often takes a route near here.”

Crowley side-eyed him, “Is that so?”

Canes clicked on the pavement, “Frankly.”

“Hmm.” 

There was a bit of silence. A tired-looking paperboy passed them and tipped his battered hat at them. A drunken group of ladies passed them on their way back to the brothel after a particularly fun Friday dinner with some businessmen. A stiff-necked Republican lifted his chin at the two of them walking a centimeter too close; Crowley had politely tipped his hat at him just to razzle him further.

“Is that all you have to say about that,  _ Mr. Fell _ ?” Crowley asked when they had the alleyway to themselves once more.

He spoke softly, “Don’t say my name like that, Crowley.”

“Well?” He pressed further, “It’s unlike you to withhold a story from me. Any secrets I can keep for you?”

“You can be a real pain, sometimes.” He muttered before sighing, giving in to the temptation of confession, “I fancy this author.”

Crowley dead stopped in the alley, stone-faced, “You _what_?”

“Don’t look so upset!” He rose his voice before quickly covering his mouth with his hands, “I’m allowed to fancy anyone I like.”

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t.” He got a hold of himself, straightening his coat and continuing on his path down the alley, “I guess I can’t pass a judgment when I’ve got my own fancies.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale perked up, getting tired of his cane and holding it rather than using it, “Pray tell.”

Crowley tried not to make a face at the phrase, “If I know exactly who this author is that you’re talking about, I could say we share the same fancy.”

“Well, I don’t blame you.” Aziraphale smiled, just a bit, and asked, “But you said ‘fancies’. Who is the plural of this?”

There was a pause. 

The wind picked up. Somewhere, beyond the damp alley was the sound of a horse-drawn carriage, of ladies laughing, and of men responding to one another. Everything was beyond them now that Crowley had gotten himself into a mess.

“You, angel. Don’t be daft.”

“Oh,” the angel sounded surprised, “Well, that’s hardly a confession.”

Making sure no one was looking, Crowley made an aggravated noise and pushed Aziraphale up against the brick wall that lined the alley, “What kind of blasted confession do you want, then? Hmm?”

What followed next was a tense, red hot silence in which breaths mixed and feelings were shared without words. Crowley was angry. Was his simple statement of love not enough?

“Is anyone looking?” Aziraphale asked, timid and small but not the least bit scared.

“No,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale took this answer gratefully and turned the tables for Crowley by grabbing him by the lapels also and pressing their mouths together. It was a brief, white-hot moment until he pulled away, leaving Crowley breathless and shocked. They looked into each other's eyes, understood a deep-seated pining that had been going on for too many centuries and, rather aggressively, kissed each other against the brick wall.

Crowley’s hat fell to the ground unceremoniously when Aziraphale went to pull on the hair on his head. It fell into a puddle, too, but neither of them noticed and if they had, they wouldn’t care. Crowley’s hands were in two different places: the side of the angel’s face and under his coat. He damned all the layers he was wearing (but then again, anything other than kissing in a public alleyway would’ve taken an even bigger miracle to achieve without anyone noticing). 

Crowley had moved to kiss Aziraphale’s jaw, “Oh, my dear. We  _ mustn’t.”  _

“How’s that for a confession?” Crowley retorted, pink in the face and yet, somehow, still so very guarded.

Time resumed once they were both situated.

“So,” Crowley tried to start a normal conversation again, “Oscar Wilde.”

“Shh!” Aziraphale shushed him, his lips red.

“What? Am I not allowed to talk about a shared interest?” Crowley demanded.

Behind them, a curious voice spoke up, “Dare I ask, gentlemen, am I the ‘shared interest’ of your conversation?”

Aziraphale whipped around so fast that it had to hurt. Crowley took a more careful approach to the man, “I should say you are.”

“How delightful.” Oscar Wilde smiled between the two of them and most certainly picked his favorite right away, reaching out to shake Aziraphale’s hand before Crowley’s, “I should say, I’m still getting used to people telling me who I am before I get to.”

“Oh! Silly me-”

Crowley cut him off. He knew very well what he wanted from Wilde and it wasn’t just a first edition of Dorian Gray, “I’m Anthony and this is my lover, Aziraphale.”

He perked up at the choice of words, just like Crowley had hoped, “Well, isn’t that a change of pace? Where are you two gentlemen from?”

“South Downs,” Aziraphale said happily. “We recently bought a lovely cottage there.”

“I see.” He continued to grin, “I hear it’s quite lovely during the Summer.”

“Well, if you ever find yourself there during the summer, we’d love to give you a tour,” Crowley said with just a hint of a smirk, Aziraphale’s shoulder bumping his.

Behind Wilde, a man appeared from a hidden doorway, looking alarmed, “Oscar-”

“We’re alright, my dear boy.” He dismissed him with a wave of his hand, not even turning around, “Would you like to come in and have a drink, Anthony and Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale answered for the two of them, “That would be lovely, Mr. Wilde.”

“Please,” he said, eyeing them up as they went into the speakeasy, “call me Oscar.”

“Oscar.” They corrected themselves, speaking in unison.

The inside of the speakeasy was unexpectedly luxurious. Of all the ones the angel and demon had been to, they’d never seen  _ clean _ tables. Or a blasted chandelier! Aziraphale marveled at all the paintings and - oh! Even a bookshelf! Crowley noticed the staring and nudged him gently. W _ e're in the presence of Oscar Wilde _ , his expression said,  _ Behave _ .

Oscar sat them down at a larger table in the middle of the bar. Many men turned to look at who had been brought inside but after that, went about themselves, chatting up their own boys. There were already two men at the table, differing in appearance. One looked well reserved and quiet, hair short but quite a curly mess. He had been the man that interrupted them in the alley. The other one was a smirking individual with mysterious eyes and long hair.

If Crowley scooted his chair closer to Aziraphale’s, no one had to know.

“Excuse me, I almost forgot.” Oscar began, gesturing to the men beside him, “These two lovely men are Robbie and John.”

“First name basis, are we?” Robbie side-eyed Oscar the way Crowley had done to Aziraphale only moments ago. He reached across the table and shook their hands, “Pleasure.”

“Oh, it will be.” Oscar smiled and the night went on beautifully.

There were, surprisingly, a lot of drinks to choose from. Crowley and Aziraphale had a certain taste when it came to drinks, however, so they shared a bottle of wine (one that the angel chose, of course). Crowley occasionally would indulge in brandy or a gin or five when he wanted to get drunk but that night, not so much. A buzz was enough. He wanted to remain mostly sober for the events of the evening.

Oscar was excitedly telling a story of two men he’d seen earlier that day. Aziraphale was sipping quietly with one hand and was holding a demon’s hand with the other. He had reached over at the start of the story, testing out the waters and Crowley had made a pleased noise, threading their fingers together.

“Anthony,” Oscar addressed him and he sat up automatically. “May I…?”

He watched his gaze flitter to what was happening under the table and nodded.

“Aziraphale and Anthony are lovers, did you know?” He smiled at Robbie and John.

Robbie quirked a brow, “Is that so? Do you often introduce each other that way?”

“How did-”

“Well, how else could Oscar have known? You haven’t spoken more than a sentence to us in here.” John interrupted him.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look, “My apologies.”

Oscar waved it away, jovial as ever, “How did you two meet?”

Ah, yes. The question they’d been lying their way through since the dawn of time. Crowley’s personal favorite story involved Aziraphale riding his bike into a pond, distracted with something or another and Crowley fishing him out of the said pond. The story continues with Crowley being so taken back by the sight that is Aziraphale in the pond that he too falls into the pond trying to rescue him.

And he’s about to tell this very story the way that is his favorite when Aziraphale opens his mouth, “Oscar, dear, do you believe in angels and demons?”

Wilde quirked a brow and looked to his boys, intrigued, “I can’t say that I don’t.”

“Are you really…?” Crowley asked in a near-silent tone, audible to angels, not really to humans, especially with the hum of the bar around them.

Aziraphale gave him a tiny nod, “Well Anthony and I met so many years ago in the Garden of Eden.”

“Yeah.” Crowley piped up and the whole table looked at him, “It was such a beautiful evening. I had just tempted Eve. Aziraphale was standing upon the Eastern Gate, watching Adam and Eve escape Eden. The sunset had been glorious. All pinks and reds.”

“Ah, but then the storm came, remember, dear?” Aziraphale continued, “We shield ourselves from the first every thunderstorm. Or, well, I shield us. Had wings back then. Big enough for Anthony to stand under and for me to protect myself.”

“You’re forgetting the best part.” He leaned forward, finally enjoying himself, “He had been issued a sword, you know? A  _ flaming _ sword. And he gave it to Adam so that he could protect himself and Eve in the wilderness. I asked him what had happened to it and he said he gave it away!” He fell back into his chair with a dreamy sigh, “I knew right then I was in love with him.”

Aziraphale’s expression fell completely from being smug and in love to - to something that looked  _ hurt _ , “Really, Crowley?”

The man in question blushed a vibrant red and excused himself to the men’s room. Behind him, he could hear Oscar ask, “When did you know you were in love with him?”

Thankfully, the bathroom was just a regular old bathroom. He didn’t have to use it, granted, he just needed to get away. It was all happening so fast. Something that had started out as a joke among humans turned into something too real for him. He did fall in love with Aziraphale on the damn wall, watching the humans run away from God. He hadn’t really run away from God. He had just asked too many questions. Why are we doing this, God? Can I know more details, Lord? No, that had been to - to  _ human _ for an angel to do. He just wanted to know more. He knew blind obedience was valued but he was just so curious. 

He was spiteful and full of too many emotions. He shouldn’t blame God for anything. She hadn’t gotten him into this bloody awful mess.

The door opened behind him and in came Robbie, the curly-haired, mouthy boy of Oscar’s. Crowley hid his eye roll behind sunglasses, “Have you come to taunt me?”

“Taunt, no.” Robbie said, leaning against the sink, “Crowley, was it?”

“Anthony J. Crowley, at your service.” He spoke with as little angst as he could manage at the moment.

“Quite the name.” Robbie offered, looking over Crowley’s shoulder at the door and then back to the demon, “I liked your story. You’re going to give Oscar a run for his money with such an elaborate story as that. I take it you and the angel have been together long, then?”

Crowley slumped against the burgundy wallpaper, his head hitting the wall, “God, no.” He silently cringed, “We’d only confessed ten minutes before we met Mr. Wilde.”

Robbie looked shocked, in stark contrast with his casual posture, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am,” Crowley said miserably.

He edged closer, “But - but you both look… so casual. As if you’ve been in love for years - been  _ together _ for years.”

“I’ve known him almost all of my life. Loved him almost that long, too.” He smiled sadly, making eye contact.

“I’m quite fond of Oscar myself but… I’ve never heard of such a love as that. Especially between two men!” Robbie smiled back, flabbergasted.

“The longer you’re around, the stranger things you’ll see.” Crowley recited sardonically.

There was a rapping at the door, fast and worried, “Crowley, darling, are you there?”

“I’m here, angel!” He called back and nodded toward the door, “Best be off, Robbie. The almighty calls.”

He gave something of a scoff and a laugh and exited. In Robbie’s place, Aziraphale entered, looking behind him almost in shock. Crowley would admit, it did look a little suspicious. But he hadn’t liked anyone other than Aziraphale. And that was scary to think about.

“You ran out,” Aziraphale said and locked the bathroom door behind him.

Crowley swallowed, “I did.”

“Oscar wants us to come back to the hotel with him and the other two gentlemen.” He shifted uncomfortably, “I said that we would.”

“And we will.”

He lit up like the damned sun, “Oh, wonderful.”

“What did you say? When Oscar asked you when you fell in love?” Crowley had shifted to stand where Robbie was, hands gripping the edge of the sink counter.

“It was in Rome. 8 years after Jesus-” He cut himself off, watching Crowley’s expression, “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

“Let’s not get into that now-”

“No.” He cut Crowley off, invitingly defiant, “Let’s. Because you were so very moody back then. You even started wearing those infernal sunglasses, too. You showed him all the kingdoms of the Earth. You  _ liked _ him.”

“I’m confused.” Crowley grew heated easily, pushing off the counter to get into Aziraphale’s face, “Are we talking about when you fell in love with me or are we talking about the Lord, Jesus Christ?”

“Both!” Aziraphale huffed, gesturing outwards.

“So what? You saw me pop in for a quick temptation, ate oysters with me, and fell in love?” He asked pointedly, confused still.

“I-” The angel sighed, all tension escaping him, “Yes, actually. I was so hurt that you had become so closed off after what happened. Chopped off all your hair. I liked it long.”

“I’m growing it out.”

He smiled, “Of course, dear, but that’s not my point.”

“Then what is!? I can hardly think as is and with you spouting off in different directions, well, I’m genuinely stumped as to what your  _ point _ is!” Crowley admitted confusion and Aziraphale seemed to understand.

“Fine. I’ll do what you did to poor Oscar.” He cleared his throat, “A roman night, beautiful, warm. I saw you drinking at that poor excuse for a bar and immediately, I’m overjoyed. Why? Because it’s Crowley! The only other slightly angelic thing on the planet. The demon that cared about the death of the Son of Man, the demon who looked terrified when he learned that everyone  _ including kids _ was to be drowned in the great flood, the demon that I suddenly realized I cared about. The bloody demon that was sat in front of me, tasting his first-ever oyster with a weird expression on his face… I just had this feeling wash over me. Sort of - sort of an ‘oh, you’ve  _ got _ to be kidding me’ moment.”

“Angel,” Crowley said affectionately.

“And I thought to myself,” Aziraphale continued with a faraway look in his eyes, “‘How could he have ever fallen?’”

“No, don’t,” Crowley paused, letting out the breath he had been holding, “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, Crowley. I still think that.” He stared down at Crowley’s shoes, trying to hide a blush.

“Gentlemen?” Came a voice followed by a knock. It was Robbie, “Don’t get ahead of oneself!”

Crowley laughed, nervously, but a laugh nonetheless, “We’re coming!”

The hotel is beyond grand. It nearly reminds Crowley of what heaven used to look like before the fall. Lucifer had been quite the interior designer before he got all - all self-aware. There were bright and shining gold fixtures and marble columns and grand staircases that made Aziraphale think of a palace in some faraway land. Like somewhere in France, maybe.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale says when they enter the actual hotel room, “why, this is bigger than my bookshop!”

“A bookshop?” Oscar asked, intrigued.

Crowley, despite wanting to get with both Aziraphale and Mr. Wilde, felt a little possessive, “It’s a quaint little place. You wouldn’t like it.”

“I suppose that’s up for discussion,” Oscar smirked at Crowley, seeing right through him as the bellboys came in with their bags. He turned away, though, better at getting to the task at hand, unlike his newly found friends, “The room is right through that door.”

“A room within a room,” Aziraphale said lightly.

Wilde chuckled, “Quite. I’ll be in shortly. I just have to speak with the other gentlemen.”

With confusion written all over his face, the angel asked, “Won’t they be joining us?”

He gave Aziraphale an interesting look, facing him, “Do you like them?”

It seemed that Aziraphale finally caught on to exactly what was happening, blushing a nice shade of pink, “Oh! Well,  _ yes _ but not - not like that, I’m afraid.” He peered behind Oscar to make eye contact with John, “No offense.”

He grinned, seemingly giddy with the conversation at hand, “None taken.”

Crowley looked between all of them, at the others leering expressions, and at Aziraphale’s embarrassed posture. He grabbed the angel by the crook of his elbow and started to lead him back to the bedroom, hoping that the night would continue smoothly. But that was just high hopes. 

Aziraphale started fidgeting with his clothes and blurted, “I don’t think I can do this,” when Crowley touched his shoulder.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No one is forcing you to do anything.” Crowley reassured him, taking his hand in the privacy of the bedroom.

“I know that. I know.” Aziraphale squeezed his hand and smiled, “The thing is, I want to. I’m just nervous.”

“Nerves are normal.” He said and, after a silent agreement, kissed Aziraphale gently.

Oscar came back into the room looking a bit pleased with himself. When he saw the two part, he spoke, “Please, feel free to continue. I’m all for watching.”

“Watching?” Aziraphale repeated.

“Yes. You’ve been together for quite some time, haven’t you?” Oscar sat down in a chair that faced the bed.

The angel and demon exchanged a look. Crowley cleared his throat, “I don’t mind an audience.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Exhibitionism? “Neither do I.”

Oscar lit a cigar and got comfortable in his chair. He gestured to the bed and Crowley shrugged, taking off his outer layers. Aziraphale stood in shock and Crowley knew it was going to be obvious that the two of them had never had sex with each other. Crowley had gone out once or twice just to see if it was really as good as the humans said it was. It was alright; his partners had been kind to him. 

But Aziraphale was still standing there and Crowley was down to his shirt and trousers. In fear of disappointing Oscar (and because he’d wanted the angel for so damn long), he grabbed Aziraphale by his lapels and kissed him, no walls to hinder them this time and no passing patrons to catch them. With just that simple kiss, Aziraphale seemed to realize that it was going one way or another and he had chosen then path Crowley was leading him towards. 

With the demon’s help, they were both half-naked fairly quickly, despite the millions of layers Aziraphale had on. Oscar was still watching from his chair, silently smoking his cigar. Crowley pulled on the waist of Aziraphale’s underwear and the angel made a strangled noise, moving to kiss at Crowley’s neck. He had gotten Aziraphale to lead. The plan had worked. Crowley could be commanding when he wanted but he didn’t really want to be then.

Blissed out with the sensation that was Aziraphale sucking on his neck, he tilted his head back, eyes closed. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that they were being watched. When he opened his eyes and saw Oscar sitting in his chair, watching them hungrily, a shocking wave of pleasure ran through him. He was definitely loving this.

“Angel,” he breathed out, cupping the side of Aziraphale’s face. “Angel, please.”

“Alright,” he muttered against his neck, “what do you want me to do?”

Oh, Crowley could name a thousand things. Instead of doing that, though, he pulled away and lowered himself onto the bed, making sure to keep heated eye contact with Aziraphale as he did so, “Everything.”

Aziraphale took that gratefully and climbed on top of him, kissing at his collarbones. It was when the angel bit at his chest that Crowley had a particularly genius idea, “Oscar?” He called out to him, breathless.

He sat up, immediately, looking at the two of them expectantly.

Above him, Aziraphale spoke quietly, “What are you doing?”

Crowley ignored him, “As much as I love being watched, my lover and I would be very upset if you didn’t join.”

Aziraphale perked up, “Yes,  _ please _ , Oscar.”

He put out his cigar and stood up, “I don’t do this often, you know. But I’m afraid I quite like you two.”

“And we like you.” Crowley grinned and pulled him onto the bed by his sleeve.

The angel, once keen on kissing every inch of Crowley, was kissing Oscar fucking Wilde as Crowley helped his down to his underwear, too. Crowley wasn’t as jealous as he thought he would be, in fact, it was rather…  _ hot _ . Aziraphale’s hands were tangled in Oscar’s long hair while he kissed him breathless. Aziraphale had kissed Crowley with a certain tenderness that alluded to more than just lust. After all, he’d fallen in love with him in Rome, at a time where Oscar hadn’t even been thought of.

Once everyone was situated, everything progressed fairly quickly. Parting the kiss with a gasp from Aziraphale, Oscar palmed him through his last layer between something Crowley really wanted to see. Aziraphale looked so overcome by pleasure, a sigh escaping his open mouth. He reached out to Crowley with a dark look in his eyes and Crowley had to kiss him just so he didn’t go insane.

Much to Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale was the first one to go, reaching his orgasm before he could even remove his underwear. Crowley was a little unhappy he hadn’t been the one to touch him but they had many, many years to explore different things. Crowley had been the second one, cumming without even being touched, Aziraphale’s fingers inside of him. God, he felt like he was going to explode when that happened. He’d reached up toward Oscar, who was sitting near his head, grabbed his fleshy thigh and had nearly screamed, “It feels like I had never fallen from heaven.”

It was a group effort when it came to Oscar’s climax. He’d insisted that he could finish himself off but neither of them would have it. It had actually been Aziraphale who had tempted him into letting Crowley wrap a hand around him while the angel kissed the moans from his mouth.

When it was all done, the three of them fucked out on the bed, Crowley nearly giggled, he was so happy. He kissed Aziraphale’s knuckles and whispered a few sweet secrets he would deny ever having said. Oscar was methodically running his hand through Aziraphale’s blonde curls.

Breathing at a normal rate again, Aziraphale started a conversation, “Oscar, dear?”

He hummed, speaking in a low voice, “Yes?”

“Do you have any works in progress?”


End file.
